


Intimacy

by Iwantthatcoat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aromantic Mycroft, Asexual Sherlock, M/M, No actual incest - past or present- in this fic, Past hallucinations, Prostitution, discussion of incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From kinkmeme prompt: "There was a lovely, lovely, heart-breaking prompt a while back about Mycroft being so lonely he'd hire prostitutes just to spend some time with him. I'd like to take that a step further and have it be that one time he accidentally gets Sherlock somehow. How does Sherlock react to realizing his brother is so desperate for companionship he'll pay a random stranger for it?"</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Sorry to deny you the pleasure of my company, Sherlock, but I'm expecting a..."</i><br/>Mycroft caught a glimpse of his pocket watch, still resting on the small wooden easel on his desk, and froze. He continued to speak without facing his brother. "Well. This rather embarrassing. Whomever you are investigating had an appointment with <b>me. </b>I can't tell you anything about him; I use a new person each time. This works out fairly well for you, in that I have nothing to hide, and no ...expectations.. of you, but it unfortunately also means I have no information which would be useful."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Sorry to deny you the pleasure of my company, Sherlock, but I'm expecting a..." 

Mycroft caught a glimpse of his pocket watch, still resting on the small wooden easel on his desk, and froze. He continued to speak without facing his brother. "Well. This rather embarrassing. Whomever you are investigating had an appointment with _me._ I can't tell you anything about him; I use a new person each time. This works out fairly well for you, in that I have nothing to hide, and no ...expectations.. of you, but it unfortunately also means I have no information which would be useful."

"I would prefer to be the judge of that."

"Anthea must be amused." Mycroft turned back toward Sherlock and managed a tight smile.

"Yes, when I gave her the codename, she did look rather in shock. And our childhood _pet_? _Really,_ Mykie?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows and simultaneously lowered his chin before giving a tiny shake of his head, clearly finding it all just a bit too funny. 

"You are the only other person who could possibly know it wasn't a pirate reference or a Kurosawa film. Well, you can go home and you won't have to trouble yourself with impersonating," he looked at the confirmation text, "'William' any longer. It appears we both have a rather unexpectedly free evening. The next person on his schedule probably wouldn't have any significant information either. This service isn't frequented by those seeking a repeat..." Mycroft was silent momentarily as he struggled for the appropriate terminology.

"Service provider?"

Mycroft nodded. "And the clients you visited before coming to me, had _they_ used the same...service provider... before? Were they able to give you any relevant information? Or am I, through some bizarre twist of fate, lucky enough to be your first?"

Sherlock smiled. "Not the first, no. And, well... they did tell me he was exceptionally good."

"More's the pity for me, then, I suppose," Mycroft said, not entirely without a touch of wry humour, "Though probably I should be more compassionate at news of the death of a man I was so very nearly intimately involved with. They routinely use false names, but if you can trace the agency's payment under whatever reputable business they front as, you might eventually uncover something that isn't an alias."

A second, wider smile. Mycroft was somehow unnerved by it, and examined Sherlock more closely as he began to sound off at his usual rapid pace. "William pays the agency, not the other way round. And then there's the payment directly from the client, which would be in cash, of course. But..." Suddenly the pace slowed. "It isn't an alias. An alias would be expected. That's why ever since joining Philotes, I have always used my real name. Well... _one_ of them, anyway. Paradoxically, it offers an even greater anonymity, since who would use their real name for such activities? So, to clarify...I'm working, but not on a case. There is no dead client I'm impersonating, it is simply me. And as for your having no useful information, you do actually harbour some facts I need to know. Other people are a considerably easier read."

"William."

"Redbeard."


	2. Chapter 2

He leaned back against Mycroft's desk. "Well. The fact that you actually contracted with this service should prevent you from lecturing me for doing the same."

"No, it does not. It simply opens us both up to greater scrutiny."

"My turn first then. It is legal to sell sex for money, so long as it isn't on a street corner, or deemed to be exploitative. I admit, an escort clearinghouse is somewhat questionable, since a brothel is technically illegal, but it is considerably safer than arranging it solo. Of course, this isn't anything like that at all-- just hiring a conversational companion for a business function. Should a _date_ decide to spend some time at your home or office and need money for cab fare home... well, that's reasonable enough, isn't it?" Sherlock tilted his head and wrinkled his brow in mock puzzlement. "Oh, but incest though. Now _that_ would be illegal even if it were free."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Well, fortunately those services aren't required. While we are discussing semantics... technically, I haven't contracted anyone."

"In that case, I hope you pay your assistant well for adding the arrangement of your morally dubious activities to her job description."

Mycroft attempted to address the accusation with dignity and straightened his posture. "It's more like a standing arrangement."

"So, not a one-time activity."

"Nor, I presume, is it for you. Fine, let's leave it at 'I prefer a distinct lack of commitment in my sexual encounters'. The body requires maintenance. This organisation understands that I don't necessarily desire anything else."

"Necessarily?"

"Occasionally, I might." Mycroft's expression was one of meticulously cultivated control. Unbreakable yet again.

"A bit more connection with the vapid general populace you so tirelessly serve?"

"Something like that. And am I to believe you suddenly have found a previously unknown joy in anonymous sexual encounters? You don't seem the type."

"In truth, I prefer no sexual encounters at all." Sherlock matched his brother's unbreakable expression. Different features, yet the same tightly controlled appearance. "But to be able to accurately read what someone likes is an acquired skill, and can be a distinct advantage."

Mycroft turned away abruptly. "I'm sorry."

"I chose this freely. There is no need for apologies-- for either of us."

"No. I'm sorry that I ever exposed you to _her._ "

"I learned a great deal from _her._ We had a night. In Karachi."

Mycroft turned back to face him. "A night?"

"I saved her life. She rewarded me by telling me all about her work. A greater understanding of how to manipulate what holds sway over the vast majority of the world is an invaluable asset."

"And you feel comfortable exposing yourself to this?"

"And you would rather call a prostitute than a therapist?"

"I don't want to be analysed, Sherlock. Or should I say William? Being as you are still in character."

"Whichever you prefer... and I am not in character. Just because it is a side of me you don't normally see doesn't make me in character. We don't see all there is to see of each other." Sherlock suppressed a snicker. "Though I will admit to being in a somewhat different role tonight. But you weren't looking for something specifically sexual, or they wouldn't have dispatched me. My repertoire is rather limited. Many are afraid to tell their loved ones the things they want. Embarrassed to say something out of the realm of the ordinary... like...oh, like berate me, or let me worship your feet, or tie me up. "Normal" is readily achieved by men with power and status, but it is seldom enough. When they call, it is because they usually want something else. Something on the fringes of sexuality. Sometimes something not even sexual at all. So, when you say you have nothing to tell me..." Sherlock leaned in closer, speaking in just above a whisper, "I think you do. What do you want?"

"For you to leave."


	3. Chapter 3

"Apart from the fact that I've never had an unsatisfied client, as a matter of personal pride..."

"I said _go!_ " Mycroft, stunned by his own sudden outburst, continued far more softly. "I will be sure to give you glowing reviews. Preserve your reputation. Just. Go."

"Oh. Quite eager for me to leave." Sherlock eyed Mycroft carefully, and shifted back slightly, elongating his body. "Am I of sexual interest then? As adult males, a senseless law doesn't trouble me, and breaking a taboo could be...interesting."

Mycroft stopped to think it through. "No," he responded flatly. "Sorry to deflate your ego." With a brief hand wave he added "No offence."

"None taken. I know that's not what you were seeking tonight, but with my unexpected presence, it seemed worth addressing directly. There was always the possibility of some suppressed urge, and perhaps it was upsetting for you to be forced to consider it, hence your uncharacteristically urgent wish for me to leave. I suspect what you require, though, is something considerably more intimate."

Mycroft brought all seven years of superiority to the fore. "Intimacy is hardly my area. Finding one's missing piece is a rather bizarre concept. I'm perfectly happy in the world of ideas instead of the world of people. Plus, with you resurrected, my _goldfish_ has returned."

"One that you had the pleasure of watching flail about in a rapidly evaporating tank." Sherlock hit the final consonant hard.

Mycroft's face crumpled. "You said I enjoyed it."

Sherlock folded his arms. "That I did."

"I never stopped worrying about you, Sherlock. You don't need to hear some childish prattle about holding a warm bundle in my arms, but the truth remains..."

"Taking someone under your wing is a rather charitable way to ensure they never grow up."

"And I'm to blame for your utter lack of responsibility, am I?"

Sherlock was no longer leaning and, in fact, was rapidly crossing the room. "I said no such thing. And, yes."

"Look what you are doing with it now... on your own with no one at all to look after you."

He whipped back around. "I'm clean."

"At the moment, yes. Since when was that my only concern?"

Sherlock smirked. "I'm sure the supply is endless."

"And now I can add diseases and sexual assault to the list." Sherlock simply glared, and Mycroft paused briefly before continuing, "Yes, well, kudos for choosing a reputable agency to partner with."

"Yet another way to follow in your footsteps."

"This is not you."

"Isn't it?"

"I simply warned you about not bonding with someone so completely. They leave. They always do. And then you have less than nothing. But still, you've always needed someone, something, to be devoted to." 

"It's _almost_ as if I were a _different person_." 

Sherlock ignored Mycroft's reaction in favour of sitting down in the rather comfortable armchair, and sighed. Mycroft followed to the chair opposite. "Last time I was high, I became anxious I had miscalculated. I hadn't, of course, but, I weighed considerably more this time around, so I upped the dose. I thought perhaps I'd upped it a bit too much. The anxiety made my heart race more than it would normally have, and for a few minutes, I suspected I might actually be dying. I turned my focus toward my body... _all_ my focus... until I was acutely aware of breathing in and out, my heart, my lungs expanding and contracting. I had to convince myself that these actions were not voluntary. That, if I turned my focus away again, my heart would still beat. I would still breathe." Mycroft listened passively, afraid to interrupt this rare moment of insight. "I didn't feel fully alive, but I wasn't dead either. I have a place I go to when such things happen, a sort of panic room in my Mindpalace. I almost went there, but instead I just observed, and adjusted to it. Got used to feeling half-alive. I looked around the room and spotted the old furnace in the corner-- the type where you can peer through the vents and see flames. I watched them grow steadily larger, watched the flames shoot out, consume the room, and then it was Hell. Quite literally. And there were demons. I watched them watching me. They examined me. Every inch. They stripped me and prodded me, and I offered myself up to them to do with as they wished. That's when they left. Apparently offering myself up to suffer wasn't as much fun."

"You shouldn't create life lessons out of hallucinogenic experiences."

"No? I should listen to your advice? Not to get involved. Everyone I know goes away in the end."

And there it was-- the path out of this bit of conversation, even though Sherlock had obviously provided it for him. As necessary as it was to take inventory of Sherlock's drug use, it always filled him with apprehension. Always a deeper destructive force at work than simply addiction, fuelling his need to escape. But Mycroft put on his best smirk and took the bait offered. "Ah, that was what was missing! The angst-ridden soundtrack. Don't you think the statute of limitations has run out on quoting maudlin songs? Though you still are an overgrown teenager." Perhaps that was too harsh--it seemed too close to reality. "He doesn't want a picket fence, Sherlock. He can't handle it. He'll come back to you. Don't be a wreck when he does. Start a new adventure. He'll join you."

"I was hoping you'd recognise the lyrics. Do you feel better now? Fixing me, setting me on the right track with your brotherly words of wisdom? You _were_ right, though. They always leave."

"Maybe they don't get enough of you to stay."

"Says the man who doesn't give any of himself to anyone."

"I don't want anyone to stay."

Sherlock made an exaggerated frown. "Not even me, apparently."

"You should stay for your own sake. You are.. a whirlpool of self-destruction.. when left to your own devices. You really should stop ruining your life just so I can save you."

"What would you do with your time otherwise?"

"Run the country. Keep the world from sliding into chaos."

"Entropy is stronger than order. An untouched room will still deteriorate. But you need this. You need to save people. You need to save me from myself and I am here to oblige."

"You working for Philotes is absurd, Sherlock. You don't even like sex."

"Now, however would I know?"

Mycroft sighed. "Well done. You win. You've always known. We've both always known what we've needed. I do hope you're getting something out of this new profession besides shocking me out of my melancholia."

"I had no idea you were a client until I was given this address."

"Coincidence? I'm to believe that? You know my views on the subject."

"Apparently _rarely_ is not the same as _never._ "

"I'm more inclined to believe your _sex guru_ decided it was a fun way to to leave us both agitated."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She didn't _teach_ me sex. We didn't _have sex_." He braced the arms of the chair as if to rise in petulant frustration, but decided instead to remain seated, and perched his fingers under his chin. "She taught me what to look for. How to read people. To know what they want," he stated.

"You can't win by offering him something you don't like to do, Sherlock. You know this to be true. It would be intolerable. Resentment on both sides."

"I don't like cleaning the flat. I don't like solving cases for you. I don't like going to see Cats with Mummy next month...God that is going to be _awful_. Whether or not there is middle ground on what John and I might both like remains to be seen. Irene Adler was very helpful, in that regard. Understanding possibilities. She reads people with the same degree of ease you or I might, but within the realm of the erotic. She knew distinctly sexual acts weren't high on my list of priorities, but other types of intimacy were. Some of them potentially intersect." Sherlock leaned forward in earnest, his elbows resting on his knees. "I didn't pursue him when I had the chance. I didn't think I had the right to. Now I'm learning. Not just how to tell what other people want, but what I want...and not just what I _don't_ want, but what I _do_ want."

"Why not seek out another romantic relationship?"

"I don't want another romantic relationship."

Mycroft's eyes flicked to the locked filing cabinet to the left of his desk. "I could find something wrong with her, you know. I could research her. The right kind of ghosts and he might leave."

"I've been tempted to myself, but he chose her. I wasn't an option, and now I am." Sherlock fidgeted in his chair. "He's never kept a relationship this long...it may yet end. If it fails, it can't be because of anything I did. He will blame me and I will have nothing but his fury. If the engagement holds, I will wish them well. I will be the best...the best Best Man I can be."

They were both silent for some time, though it was clear Sherlock was having difficulty maintaining his composure and seemed to be fascinated by the carpet.

"The divorce statistics are in your favour. You know what they say... if you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's yours. If it doesn't...hunt it down and kill it."

Mycroft chuckled. Sherlock managed to as well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first experiment Sherlock refers to is one where monkeys were kept in isolation chambers to see how they developed when denied socialisation. The other two are rulers who thought themselves champions of science and decided it would be a grand idea to raise babies without ever communicating to them, to see which language they would speak first (That would obviously be the language *God preferred*. Yeah. They didn't end up speaking any language. They died.)
> 
> LSF is French Sign Language, ASL is American Sign Language, and BSL is British Sign Language. French and American are somewhat similar. BSL is quite different.

"You do realise I'm going to keep at this."

"Until when, Sherlock? Until I break? Until I tell you what a desperatly lonely man I am without my other half? I have no other half. I need no other half."

"No one said you need another half. You're large enough as it is."

"And to think there was even a passing thought in that remarkably slow brain of yours that I might have had a romantic interest _in you_. Sleeping with the enemy, indeed."

"I've never been your enemy."

"But I have been yours?" Mycroft lifted his chin slightly and straightened his back and making the most of his height. "There is a reason Orwell chose the term Big Brother. You were standing in my shadow for quite a long time...and before you go there, yes, it was, admittedly, a large shadow."

"Didn't say it.."

" _Thought_ it."

"You think I would judge you."

"Judge me?"

"The reason you won't tell me why you called this service. You won't _tell_ me because you think I would _judge_ you, which means you must be being an absolute hypocrite. Which further means it's something you have repeatedly warned me against, so it can only be one of two things...drugs or sentiment. You don't call this service for drugs. You call it for physical affection, but if it fell into the realm of kink, you'd have something with you, as they did not instruct me to bring anything, and clearly you were waiting at your desk, absorbed in work to pass the time. You needed this fix, badly, and had nothing out at the ready. No supplies necessary...that actually lowers the list of possibilities rather significantly."

"Not every service requires accoutrements."

"True, but if you wished to merely be insulted, I would have seen a certain relief after I insulted you."

"You've learned well." Mycroft's smile was soft.

"There it is."

"There what is?"

"My, but we are being repetitive tonight! The façade has slipped. When you thought you'd made a difference. Been...Oh!"

"Oh?" A cynical reply, complete with mocking facial expression.

"Come closer."

Mycroft stood his ground and crossed his arms in defiance.

"You want to prove you didn't call me, or rather, call Philotes and request someone as close to my height, weight, build, hair and eye colour as possible for a tryst, unknowingly getting the genuine article? Then, come closer."

"Dirty tactic."

"Necessary to prove a point."

Mycroft stepped up right next to Sherlock, who quickly scanned his brother, before reaching his long arms around him and pulling the man into an embrace. Mycroft stiffened, and then relaxed. There was no sexual undertone, no challenging questions in the touch, just a simple hug. Simple, and complicated. "Well done," he muttered into his shoulder.

"I learned from the best."

Mycroft shook just the tiniest bit, and channeled the outpour of emotion into a manageable physical action, his arms reaching across Sherlock's back. Mycroft opened his mouth, then shut it again. There was really nothing more that needed saying.

It couldn't have been all that long, really, but it felt that way to Mycroft, as he straightened slightly-- a direct cue for any other person to release their hold. Sherlock didn't. There was an almost imperceptible shift, not visible if there had been an observer in the room, but for a brief moment, it was Mycroft who was hugging Sherlock. Then they broke apart.

"I suppose we all have our occasional weaknesses," Mycroft mumbled.

"Needs and weaknesses aren't the same thing. Touch was the first of your senses to engage. You don't need _romance_ to need touch. Harlow's Pit of Despair."

"Are you comparing me to a _Rhesus monkey?"_

"Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II. James IV of Scotland. There is a reason there are no modern experiments. Fascinating as they are, they are considered unethical, and rightly so. No one survives them. Besides, it's far too late to see what language you would speak if raised in isolation if you are currently fluent in nine of them."

"Ten."

"I included Serbian."

"I didn't. I'd hardly consider that crash course _fluency._ I have, however, recently acquired LSF and ASL in addition to my BSL. Thoroughly different root -- more complicated than I had anticipated. Non-verbal languages are highly useful." Mycroft smirked. "'Exceptionally good' they said? Not rating yourself too highly? Am I still expected to pay you, William?"

Sherlock returned the expression. "It's all in finding the right approach for each individual. And I'll play you for it. War? You'd be good at that."

"You won't cheat?"

"We'll both cheat. It's more fun that way."


End file.
